Lobster On My Shoulder …

December 18, 2024 (Wednesday/early morning)

Grief … I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Grief and the grieving process. I don’t dwell on it … it is just one of those things that pops into my head (and heart) from time to time – especially at this time of year. Especially this year.

I had lunch with a friend yesterday – we’ve known each other for over 30 years. A lot of life happened in that time. She lost her husband this past summer. It is her first “round” of holidays without him. We held hands across the table and she said not a day has gone by that she hasn’t cried about him … it has been 5 months. My eyes teared up as I know her pain/her heartache as it’s been 18 years and I still cry over my husband. Not all the time, but I can’t look at his picture without feeling as if a dagger were going through my heart. We lost him when he was 52 … he would have been 71 next week. Sigh. A lot of life has gone by without him. A lot.

Do I grieve those I’ve lost? Absolutely. Am I sad? Sometimes, but it’s more of a nostalgic feeling of melancholy (wistful longing) than true sadness. Do I carry grief with me? Every day. Is that weird or abnormal? I tend to think not.

After all – grief is complicated.

My mom passed away a year ago today. I will light a little remembrance candle later for her and try to conjure up some nice memories. But, do I cry about her? No. Do I miss her? Um, not really. Do I feel guilty about all of that? You bet I do. She rarely (ever?) showed much emotion … and our relationship was never what I hoped it would have been. I wonder if that ties in with how I feel. I moved back here and was with her for the last 19 months of her life. The last year of it was not good. The last six months, REALLY not good. The last few days, really pathetic and so very awful. Aging alters personalities. She was just shy of 95 when she passed … was in pain, didn’t want to be “here”, and made sure my sister and I knew that. It was hard to hear. She was hard to be with. In between the very few “good” times of conversation and memories, she was argumentative and stubborn. Beyond stubborn and beyond reason ~ making whatever patience either of us had … worn thin. By the time mom left us – we were depleted. It’s tough to grieve someone who made your life so miserable – and her own, in the process. She was demanding, unhappy, (mostly) unappreciative (at least to us), and just sooo damn stubborn/making everything we did or needed to do – SO hard … and yet, she was my mom. I loved her and she loved us all – in her own ways. I just hope someday I miss her. I just don’t – yet – and it’s a weird thing.

Grief … is weird.

I remember the week after Tim died … I drove to Target and sat in my car in the parking lot while I fished in my purse for some lip gloss. I wanted to put some on – just in case I saw him in the store, I wanted to look pretty. Um, did you catch the timing of this – a week AFTER he died. It took less than a nanosecond of sane thinking for me to realize what I was doing. What the hell was WRONG with me? I never saw him in any store in the 27 years we were together … why on Earth would I think I’d see him in a Target a week after he died? Yeah – grief is weird.

I’m about 80% done with the grief journal/guidebook I am writing. It’s taken me a LONG time to write this. Mostly, because I put it on the back burner for a million years … and then when I started compiling it, I could only work on it bits at a time because … however difficult grief is to experience and live with – it’s also difficult to write about. Everything floods back when you are recounting stories or dispensing advice (along the lines of “do as I say – not as I did”). I am a remedial griever.

When my first dog (a blonde cocker, named Moonie) died on the operating table while having a uterine cyst removed (she was septic but we didn’t realize it) … I was devastated. She was my first “baby”. It took me seven years (yes – 7!) to not cry about her when I talked about her. I’m not good with death or the finality of it. I just don’t like it. Grieving is a tough thing for me; it’s like a whirlpool – I just go around and around and around. But, I’m getting better at it. I’ve learned a lot over the years … but yeah, I’m a slow learner.

My dad died six years ago … the day after his 90th birthday. He left a huge hole in our hearts. His passing was unexpected and so sudden. We’d celebrated the night of his birthday and he drifted off from us while napping the next day. He was more fit than almost everyone else in the family – so, yeah, totally unexpected. I miss him. I miss his stories. I miss his interest, intelligence, and stupid jokes. I miss that he was what polar bears would consider a great treat … crunchy on the outside and soft and gooey on the inside. I laughed as I typed that – he would have loved that analogy.

See? I’m learning – not all grieving is bad or heartbreaking.

I know of eight people who died this spring/summer and I lost two good friends this year ~ one to death, the other to just drifting away. Grief encompasses all loss. It’s a package deal – loss/grief. Unfortunately we rarely have one without the other. Whatever the loss may be – grief tags along and is part of it all. It’s like a rotten BOGO. We can’t ignore it (believe me, I’ve tried) … and it’s something we just have to work through/come to terms with/live with. And, as similar as it is for all of us – it’s also completely different and personal for everyone … with different intensities and time frames for each of us. Yeah – did I mention that it’s complicated?

We all have someone or something we are grieving – maybe not actively all the time – but perhaps only now, at this time of year. Over time we carry grief with us … in some form … for that special pet, beloved friend or family member, a withered marriage, friendship, career path or ability (I can go on and on but you get the picture) and that grief might just be under the surface – there, but not bubbling. But it seems that during the holidays (because they only come once a year) grief surfaces and it gets stirred up in us – because of memories, events, music (all trigger factors) and it can be exhausting, frustrating, and/or overwhelming. If you are feeling this – take a step back and take a few deep breaths. The holidays are tough when you miss someone or something – even if it’s from long ago.

As the new year is in our sights and the year comes to an end … remember to share your memories – even if it’s with yourself – as they will light your way forward. I like to think that there is a little sieve area in our hearts … where we keep our losses. Eventually, the bad memories sift through and only the happy ones remain so that we’ll only carry the good with us. It may sound corny but – it’s comforting.

Just remember that grief is like arthritis … it’ll flare up from time to time (usually without warning) but (if you haven’t already) you’ll learn how to deal with it/live with it/manage it. I don’t believe that grieving truly ends ~ it just morphs into something else more manageable.

After all, grief is complicated.

December 7, 2024 ~ Saturday (sunny, chilly now but going up to 64°!)

It’s unusually warm here this week – with temps in the 60s this weekend. But, snow is forecasted for Monday! Welcome to December in Colorado! And, how did we get to December? In any case, it hasn’t felt like the holidays are around the corner (or have begun) and I was needing something to ramp up my holiday senses/spirit.

And then it happened.

I was in my car on my way to my daughter’s earlier this week – the heady scent of pine filled the car as the back was full of pine branches that I scavenged from the compost bin at the local Home Depot (bough trimmings that she will use for making wreaths). I peeled a tangerine and that yummy, clean, citrusy fragrance mingled with the pine and instantly … it was Christmas-time.

My kids had a scratch and sniff book (remember those?) …”The Sweet Smell of Christmas” (you can get it on Amazon/Target for $7.06!) and there were gingerbread cookies, oranges, candy canes, pine branches to scratch and sniff as the story progressed. Darling illustrations and a cute story – fabulous! And the minute I peeled that orange, in my mind I was (once again) sitting with my kids and reading that story. Funny how powerful the sense of scent is!

So, it has begun … the festive holiday season … whether it is Christmas, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, or Festivus for you … or anything else … I hope it is happy and brings you much joy and happiness (especially this year as “things” have been a bit tense in this country/and elsewhere of late).

So, happy (whatever) holidays to you, dear reader. I say the “whatever” as not like a Valley Girl – “Whatever!” – or with an exasperated sigh – I just mean WHATEVER your holiday or observance leanings may be – may they be joyful, happy, memorable, and … yours.

My mom used to get miffed that I’d say Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas. She didn’t seem to understand that (as soon as mid-November came around) I liked wishing others a happy holiday – whatever that holiday was. Not everyone celebrates Christmas!

So, as I was eating my leftover Sesame Chicken this morning for breakfast (quite yummy and better solo than with the green beans that made my stomach feel like Mt. Vesuvius’s second coming last night!) … I got to thinking about holidays this time of year. How many are there? What also is observed and celebrated?

I was surprised. You’ll be shocked!

On this date, alone, there are 13 (count ’em ~ thirteen!) observances … it is the 83rd anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. But it is also Candle Day, National Cotton Candy Day, as well as (aptly) National Letter Writing Day … among others. And while not “holidays” some of these observances are as important to people as Christmas or Hanukkah might be to others. Personal interests/preferences/beliefs … I’m all for that.

So, how many of these special observances are actually in December? Ready for this? 250! Yes – two hundred and fifty holidays and/or observances are in the month of December! And, that’s not including the weekly and monthly observances for this month! So, dust off your party shoes cuz every day has a cause for celebration! I know I for one, don’t want to miss Crohn’s and Colitis Awareness Week – actually I just did/the last day is today! As was Old Driver Safety Awareness Week! But there are plenty more to celebrate!

As we slide towards the main holidays this month – let us not forget the other little bits of joy we can be reveling in and celebrating wildly, like … it’s National Bingo, Fruitcake, Pear, and Cat Lover’s Month! It’s also National Learn a Foreign Language Month (oui!), National Tie Month, and Operation Santa Paws observances.

Who knew? Here are some of my favs still coming up this month …

8th – National Brownie Day … Chocolate frosting or powdered sugar? Nuts or none? Cakey or fudgy? Anyway you like them … yum! It’s also National LARD day! Ew! But it does make an exquisitely flakey pie crust! Go hog fat!

9th – National Llama Day! I still have nightmares about that llama encounter I had on the island when I was doing a story on a cheese maker and she left me alone in the paddock with her goats and one very protective llama! He ran across the enclosure and stopped within inches of my forehead – his breath pouffing out my hair and his horrible brown buck teeth glistening in the sunlight. Ugh – too scary! I was so afraid he was going to bite my nose off! Obviously, he didn’t (I stood as still as a statue and didn’t make eye contact and eventually he got bored and wandered off), but if you’re going to have a llama encounter … maybe keep your distance and stay on the other side of the fence!

11th – National Bagel Day and National Tango Day … I wonder what it would be like to do the tango with a bagel in your mouth? Pretty satisfying, probably! Much softer than a rose!

13th – National Cocoa Day. Make yourself a mug and pile on the whipped cream, put your feet up and turn on a Hallmark movie. Every scene has someone drinking or making (the “World’s Best”) cocoa. I actually made some the other night – but mine had Amaretto in it. Even better!

16th – I’m liking this day’s observances … Barbie and Barney Backlash Day (ha ha) – who doesn’t love that? How many of us are STILL singing that purple dinosaur’s song when in the shower? It’s also National Chocolate Covered Anything Day! Yum! How about chocolate covered potato chips? Insects? Donuts? I’ll eat anything but the insects, thank you very much!

22nd – National Date Nut Bread day – now, that’s an observance I can sink my teeth into!

30th – National Bacon Day … now who doesn’t think that’s a great way to close out the year? Bacon, bacon, bacon!

If nothing else – look up/google “December Holidays” and you’ll get your fill. There’s always something to look forward to! Just pick and choose and enjoy!

With so many celebrations to choose from – I’m sure we can all have a very Merry and Happy (Whatever) Holiday season! Here’s to you and yours!

November 22, 2024 ~ Friday morning (chilly, sun is rising, another day in paradise and political hell)

I woke up today thinking, as I have done so since the election, of all things politics. Not exactly the nicest or best way to start the day. With what is our political climate of late, it is best to say … it’s not good. The Orange Asshole is at it (in force) already and we are now in the phase of this post-election period where our anticipatory anxiety is ramping up and taking over because we (kind of) knew what was coming down the pike … but it’s all looking much worse than we envisioned. And it’ll get worse and worse as we go along. We are still two months out from the inauguration … then what? We were told what he’d do – why weren’t people listening?

Apparently not. So, we will suffer the consequences of those voting actions. We reap what we sow. We pay the price of our (or others’) actions. And right now and going forward – we will continue to do so. Thanks a lot people! The voices of the American people have been heard – and now we have to contend with what damage has been (and will be) done. Yeah – thanks a lot. It’s not good. NONE of it is good.

And, I’m sorry about the pay-cut, Rachel – I haven’t been watching TV (well, Hallmark movies but not the news)! I told myself for my mental well-being I had to cut back on my daily (and weekly) dose of media input/what is going on now. As a friend said, “I’ve seen better cabinet choices at IKEA!” Haven’t we all?! Sigh. Jeff Sessions is looking pretty good right now. I have been sighing a LOT but my blood pressure and anxiety levels are lower because I am being an ostrich. An informed head-in-the-sand ostrich – but an ostrich nonetheless. I am not dwelling on things I have no control over. It’s not healthy – not for me, at least.

I voted. I took my public and civic duty, right, and responsibility to heart. But, the outcome was far from what I wanted. l can make jokes about what is going on – a cushion against the unparalleled idiocy and domination that is marching across this country. The racism, misogyny, intolerance, white supremacy, the oligarchial dawning … it’s just too much.

So, I am thinking about pillows.

Yeah – you heard me right! I have promised myself I will not stress over that which I have no control. And that is a LOT. (Thanks, again, people!) So, I’m focusing on that which I can control … and right now that is my bed pillow situation. I want to be Goldilocks. In a world where nothing feels right – when I sink down onto my bed at night, I want my pillows to be perfect. Not too hard/firm … not too flat/squishy. In other words, JUST RIGHT. I’m calling it the Goldilocks Ideal.

I have pillows on my bed. I have pillows under my bed. I have pillows in storage. None are what I want. I used to have more beds, which meant – more pillows. Somehow, for some reason, when the beds went away – the pillows did not! I had an Air BnB for a few years and a guest room … more pillows! The old pillows would be stuffed into dog bed covers for my doggy daycare biz – so, I had a lot of pillow-stuffed dog beds around! I still do. The dogs don’t mind if the pillows aren’t new or ultra fluffy, but I do!

In any case – I have pillows … just not ones I LIKE! My bed looks like it should be in a display in the linen department at Macy’s! The pillows look plump and fluffed but aren’t quite … right. They don’t have that it factor. I hold onto the extras (under my bed and in storage) for when I have overnight guests. Has that happened? A few times but not enough to warrant my pillow accumulation! So why do I have still have those pillows under my bed? In case of a pillow shortage? Like the TP insanity during Covid? Hey everyone I know and love – if you run out of pillows – come on by. I’ve got you covered – I’ve got extras! Egad. I don’t know what sickness this is but it’s got a hold on me! LOL.

So, with that (and fully, embarrassingly aware that this is a first world problem), I’m on the quest again. I feel, at times, that I’m a pillow snob. Ha! But, seriously, I want a good night’s sleep (especially when it means I need rest to face what is coming the next day) and for me that means a good pillow where I can rest my weary (politically inclined/upset) head. I just want a standard-size (not king), good for side sleeping, supportive but not neck crunching or realigning, soft but not one that’ll flatten out during sleep, squishy and moldable enough, and also down-alternative so I don’t wake up with a puffed face from feather allergies! Is that too much to ask? Home Goods, Target, Costco, and Walmart all bombed out. So – I’m back to the drawing board.

In the meantime – I’m keeping my eyes on the dog beds! The dogs sure are sleeping well … and maybe, just maybe, those pillows are just right.

November 6, 2024 ~ Wednesday (early morning/it’s snowing/I’m crying)

It’s early morning after the 2024 Presidential election. I am on my way to bed – again – as sleep is alluding me. I can hardly get any words out of me. I sit here, chilled, fingers clicking away on my keyboard and I am shaking my head in disbelief. Something I’ve been doing all evening. It’s seemingly an involuntary action.

I am so disgusted. To put it mildly. But, I’m also angry and upset, disheartened, sickened, and …

The joyful baby we were expecting ended up being the devil. And I’m beyond disgusted.

I turned on the tv tonight and was watching msnbc … the results started coming in and the red tidal wave started to come ashore. I watched for awhile, feeling my stomach doing flips, and then switched the channel to watch something mindless. I couldn’t bear to watch the results. Not again. I did this half a dozen times – hoping beyond hope that the results would be better. They weren’t.

How was this happening … again? I was having PTSD from the 2016 election night. We were so hopeful … so ready … so stupid.

I am angry. I am angry at Biden for taking so long to drop from the race. I’m angry that from the moment he was elected, he didn’t say that he was a one (and done) term President. That would have given someone else four years to get their ducks in a row. Not 107 days as was the case now. I am angry that he backed Harris before letting anyone else come forward.

I am angry that the Democrats were too “nice” and not more forceful with their ads and speeches calling out the supreme asshole for the creep that he is (was/will always be).

I’m angry that all those who voiced their displeasure with T did it in the 11th hour. Oh, yeah – they said things but a little too late. But, some got good book deals out of their knowledge and insight. Lovely.

I am angry that the Democrats were stupid (again) to think the this country is advanced enough to vote for a female for President. Did we learn NOTHING from Hilary? Or any of the women who tried before her? Had we had a male presidential candidate and either a female or male VP, would we have had a better chance? Or is this country too far gone with idiocy? Damn … that Kool-Aid must have been tasty.

Before I turned off the tv at 12:30, I switched back and (unfortunately) caught a snippet of T’s speech … “… water, BIG water, lakes that weren’t there, of water … ” I guessed he was talking about North Carolina’s hurricane damage. He sounded like a 4-year-old. And this is who the majority of the people in our country think is fit and intelligent enough to run our country? To hold the highest office in our land? AGAIN? Wasn’t the first time bad enough?

Did we learn nothing from his first term? Did we learn nothing from all those who came forward and said he was dangerous, a menace, unfit, unhinged, mentally impaired? Did it not register that with voting this disgusting human into office – again – that he would now be totally untouchable with the Supreme Court in his pocket … without any legal repercussions or guardrails or guardians to protect our democracy saying that (among other things) maybe being in bed with Putin isn’t the best idea? That he would go unchecked, do whatever he wanted, have absolute power? Why weren’t people listening? Are people really that stupid?

I would like someone to explain to me – preferably a T voter – in a succinct, intelligent manner why they thought that this disgusting 34x felon, liable of sexual assault and a sexual predator who thinks it’s “okay” to grab women by their you know what, misogynistic racist, disparager of the military, law enforcement, the disabled and disadvantaged and those even wearing glasses, a thief, who calls his opponents names and cuss words, a narcissistic, vindictive and vengeful dictator wanna-be, bff with Putin, whose pals are criminals, who cares nothing about this planet or this country or it’s inhabitants, who incited an insurrection, who was impeached twice, who stands behind Neo-Nazis, who said to beat Covid we should inject ourselves with bleach, who has been bankrupt at least five times, who doesn’t pay his bills, who claims he is “so rich” yet begs for money from those less fortunate or hawks stupid products, who is unhinged and unfit, without a moral compass or ounce of compassion or empathy or grace, who is blasphemous, who is an adulterer, cheating-lying-fraud-con man who can’t string five words together to make a coherent sentence … in other words a moronic and repulsive piece of shit … was a better choice than Kamala or ANYONE else.

I would like someone to explain that to me.

This wasn’t an election between democrats or republicans … or even an election of gender – female vs male. This was an election between our democracy and a dictatorship.

Is this country that stupid? Apparently so.

As a woman, I think I may have voted in my last election. I see The Handmaid’s Tale as a very real possibility (but I’ve been saying that for a decade now). We are in trouble. It is so totally beyond my comprehension that this is happening – again – that I have no other words to say other than I feel dirty and that I feel like I need to take a shower.

I hope he gets eaten by an alligator before he takes office. But that leaves us with Vance … who might even be worse … the man who lied saying that immigrants were eating pets. THIS is the man who – in all likelihood – will (sometime in the next four years) be our President, as well. Another piece of shit.

This shows us all what morons live in this country … uneducated, dis/misinformed/reckless/cult-following. And, if you voted for T – I’m not going to apologize for what I think. Wake up and smell the dictatorship. Thanks a lot. I hope you’re ready.

I am more worried about the future of our country and for those I love than ever before.

And … sigh … I am just so disgusted.

November 4, 2024 (Monday morning – gray/mizzly/chance of snow … and destruction)

I feel sick. Anxious. I can’t sleep. My stomach is doing better flips than I did as a cheerleader in high school. Triple ones – I never did that. Broke my body before that ever happened.

I feel like I’m waiting for a baby to be born … will it be viable, healthy, burbling with joy? Or will it, as the ultrasound suggests … come out with horns, a pointy tail and be pure evil?

We will find out (sometime) this week. Unless this election is a landslide (either way) we probably won’t know the outcome for a few days … if then. Or you know who will throw us into some form of turmoiled chaos and extreme events will happen. More Tums for me.

“On the Eve of Destruction” is a protest song which was released in 1965 (I was still playing with Barbie’s) written by P.F. Sloan but sung by Barrie McGuire. McGuire was associated with The Mamas & the Papas and The New Christy Minstrels during his career. You may remember him/or not – I don’t remember him but I do remember the song – sung with such grit. I was thinking of this song this morning and thought I’d look it up. The bio for McG says he lives in Oklahoma City … and oddly, on this Election Eve, destruction came to OK in the form of damaging tornados. Hope he is okay. Kind of creepy how some things come full circle.

If you’re not familiar with the song – google it. I’m not a conspiracy theorist but these past few months (years) have left me with an increasing feeling/sense of dread … and god, I hope I’m wrong … but the song rings true to how I’m feeling. Here’s an excerpt …

“Yeah, my blood’s so mad, feels like coagulatin’
I’m sittin’ here just contemplatin’
I can’t twist the truth, it knows no regulation
Handful of senators don’t pass legislation
And marches alone can’t bring integration
When human respect is disintegratin’
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin'”

And so we are here … on the eve of … WHAT exactly? Hopefully NOT destruction but I guess we’ll find out. I, along with almost everyone I know, am hoping for a beautiful, laughing, healthy and joyful outcome! (If so – party at my house!)

October 3, 2024 ~ Thursday (still in the 80s or higher here!)

Sweater Weather … the two words that bring coziness to mind along with crisp morning air, trees putting on their colorful displays, woodsmoke, and all things autumnal.

Well, it would if it weren’t 88° outside! Get goin’ Summer – we are done with ye! Adios! Sayonara! Ciao! In other words … Scram! Get lost!

I missed September with my posts – mainly because, I’m sure, my brain was fried. The longest, hottest, quietest summer yet – I didn’t like it. Put a fork in me, I’m done.

Typically, I love September as the lazy days of Summer wind down and you, all at once, feel that certain something in the air … a scent, a whisper through the trees, the air feels thinner … that something that says, “Autumn ~ it’s so close.” But not this year. Yeah – we’ve had a few chillyish mornings … nothing notable. Nary a cold temp. Definitely no snow. I got tired of watering my garden beds by late August – things were half baked or dead. However, still I kept doing so – just so I could get one more tomato (didn’t – the squirrel got it!). But, I’m letting whatever is left out there fend for itself now … my leggy tomatoes? You’re on your own guys! My deep purple stocks (that I finally got to enjoy cuz no slugs ate them like in the NW)? … I’m not watering you anymore! My lavender? … You’re half dead already – continue on!

But this year, Summer was too hot … too summery … too “I’m so sick of Summer I could scream” (well, I can’t scream/yet – but I can now talk! Finally! A very long three months!) So … September came and went. There was no yearning for elementary school supplies because it still felt like Summer. There was no wanting to decorate for Fall … cuz it was still Summer. There are no pumpkins marching down my front porch steps … I do not need to make pumpkin soup for the squirrels! (I love them but even I have my limits!)

I adore October but here we are … three days in … and we were 88° yesterday … 90° for the next two days … high 80s for all of next week. We have four days after that forecasted with temps in the 70s … and it won’t be until after mid-month that “seasonal” temps (60s) finally come around. Craziness. I don’t like it. I feel cheated.

Autumn is my favorite season (by far). Probaby 5x any other season. I do enjoy Spring – but not in CO. It’s snowy or it’s in the 50s through mid-May and then all of a sudden, it’s Summer and we are in the 80s and 90s – again – or worse. No spring here. And, apparently, less of Fall, too. Bummer.

I was curious, the other day, and looked up the average temps in September in the late 1960s in Chicago. I remember walking to elementary school (I loved that school) … and I also remember what I wore those first few days. We didn’t “go back” til after Labor Day – so, early September. The Fall clothes, the “fall-ness” … the new start of a new school year … it was all so exciting. My wardrobe consisted of cordouroy pants, plaid dresses with Peter Pan collars, Mary Jane or Saddle shoes (why were those ever in fashion?) with anklets or knee highs, and light sweaters. I had one sweater that had a “diamond” at the neck (as a button). I thought I was SO COOL. All 9 years old of me! Yeah – me and my Sugar Plum Fairy Pink cat-eye glasses and uneven bangs. Fashionista … not quite! But, I remember it all so well … and I remember it being COOLER. And it was. This September’s average temp in Chicago was 75°. When I was a kid … the average temp there was (du du du dun) … 66°! Hello climate change!

I put on a sleeved shirt today to run to the library. I thought I’d die of heat stroke before I got home!

I’m just ready for coziness. I’m ready to turn my heat on. I’m ready to snuggle. I’m ready to put pumpkins on my porch that won’t bake in the sun/temps. I’m READY. (Actually, I’m BEYOND ready!)

My house is decorated. My sweaters and cords are in my closet. My rust colored suede shoes are waiting to be worn (with socks). Another couple of weeks … I keep singing the “One Day More” song from Les Mis … but, honestly, I’ve been singing it for a month now!

In any case, I’m ready for Fall – whenever it gets here! Come on Sweater Weather!

There’s a lot going on now … and a lot to be concerned with. So, deep breaths. But pull out your sweaters cuz Fall’s gonna be here (hopefully soon).

Wishing you all a happy and peaceful Autumn.

August 24, 2024 ~ Saturday (afternoon/need to go run errands but it’s in the 90s again!)

Patience. According to the Oxford dictionary it means … the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset.

Uh, yeah. Something, apparently, I didn’t get enough of … or used up along the way. The older I get, the less patient I become. Not a good thing, I admit.

This summer has been a giant lesson in patience for me.

In May, I started on Wegovy – I’m not half sure I’m not poisoning my system with this – but it finally (FIN-ALLY) seems to be working in the weight loss department. Patience, my dear, patience. I’m down 20 lbs but … it’s been four months of supervised starvation (eating less than a toddler most days) and this is not sustainable. I’m nauseous, don’t have any appetite, nothing sounds good to eat except for bagels and cream cheese – things I don’t normally eat so my new diet consists of mostly fats and carbs. Great. Except at least it’s something in me as opposed to not eating anything cuz nothing else sounds remotely appealing or swallow-worthy. And since I’m not eating enough or well, my energy is flagging, and hence I am not walking (or in my case moving much at all), and because of that … I’m not sleeping well. I sleep but it might take me two or three hours to fall asleep. Stupid. And then I’m REALLY impatient. Let’s just say my mood hasn’t been great.

Add in 50 (yes, fifty) days of over 90° and that has just added fuel to the fire. (I’m glad I wasn’t here in 2020 when Denver had 75 days of over 90°! I’m pretty sure I would have died.) I like warmth. Heat is okay but couple it with blazing, searing sun and … nope, can’t do it. This little house retains the heat … I’m pretty sure the insulation is newspaper from 1911 when it was built. The sun bakes the house and the internal temps have been as high as 88° on some hot days … and that’s in the dining room with the blinds down, ac, and fans going. I’ve been living in darkness and closure all summer. Pretty dismal. I also don’t go outside because I’m just not a fan of heat stroke – so, I’ve been caving all summer. I’ve done nothing much more than read (30 books in two months) and I feel like a (well-read) bat!

I’m pretty sure being up in the NW for eight years messed with my internal temperature controls. My body reminds me of my parents’ fights over the thermostat … mom would put it up in the winter and down in the summer and my dad would always be doing the opposite until the other one was too hot or too cold and they’d adjust it again! My body is doing the same thing … but living those eight years in perpetual October for about nine months a year with outside temps ranging from 45-60 degrees … anything outside those numbers is now too cold or too hot. I get impatient with the weather … always upset that it’s too f’g hot cuz well … it’s too f’g HOT!

In June, I had vocal cord surgery … a testament in patience. The Summer of Silence was difficult at best. I wouldn’t recommend it. I still feel like I’ve got a piece of something stuck in my (still sore) throat. Not good. l thought I’d write notes, use gestures, nod … a lot. It would be FINE! But, nope. It was too hard. Too tempting to talk when I was with anyone – so, I found it best to not socialize. This was worse than Covid cuz at least then I could talk to people! The loneliness and isolation were really profound.

The first three weeks were completely silent/NO talking AT ALL. The next month was 95% silence … and I could use my voice to say a few words an hour (but not on the phone). Those words were usually directed at Mac, my lab – who would walk ahead of me and stop – which would send me flying over him or jumping off to the side of him, etc. I couldn’t yell or say anything more than “Keep moving!” “Go!” “Omg – MOVE!” all in a slight husky rasp. What I got from him were worried eyeballs and no cooperation. By late July I was practically good enough with my dismounts over him to be an alternate on USA’s gymnastics team! It’s now the last week of August and I don’t see my doctor for another month … I’ve been cheating more and more (but still not on the phone – it, apparently, is a strain on the voice) … but am still more silent than I ever thought possible. It’s been more trying than I expected … and (nearly) three months has seemed like an eternity. I have absolutely NO patience left with this issue. Zero. None.

The other day I was out running errands and I think I came upon a new record, even for me, in the road rage category. As my mother would tell you (if she could, but she cannot as she is no longer) – I have a potty mouth. I’m not exactly proud that I could make a sailor blush and of my less than creative cuss words … something I need to work on. But, in the course of THREE BLOCKS … I spewed out (in my soft, husky rasp) – more mouthing the words than actually saying them aloud – “Jesus, OMG – will you just DRIVE, GD it – go”, and my usual … “Do you drive much, dumbshit?” (Which by the way, Ted mimicked me when he was JUST starting to talk – some 36 years ago!) I also added in a new one … “For god’s sake go – you lame ass idiot.” Nice. I figured I’d best just go home and forego the errands.

Patience, as you can see, would be a very ironic name for me!

And then it all came full circle.

I was at Walmart the other day (yeah, the “bad” one with the armed security guards and a store in which I’m not sure I want to buy anything but dogfood and then take a shower once home). I was in the checkout line – six deep ahead of me (as they’ve done away with self checkout unless you have FIVE items) – and things were not going well. As in NOT going well or quickly. Someone needed a price check. Someone decided they didn’t need something. Someone else had 14,000 items. The gals at the register traded places. My pint of ice cream melted. By the time the woman in front of me was checking out, I wasn’t in the happiest of moods. I didn’t think checking out would take me an additional half hour.

I put my few things on the belt (more than five) … and waited. Standing there it gave me time to look at the items ahead of me. The woman buying them wore a headscarf and was deeply ebony. I’m not sure she spoke English. She stood there but I could sense a bit of unease or trepidation from her. She had very basic items … beans, rice, rolls, small bottles of gatorade and ensure (made me think maybe she had an older person at home she wanted to get some nutrients/electrolytes into), two white onions, a bag of potatoes. Nothing extravagant … no meat, dairy, paper products, cereal, or snack items that seem to cost a fortune these days. She gave me a sideways look as she put her card into the reader. It was denied. She had a SNAP card – she used that. Whatever was on that card paid for some of her bill. She tried another card. That, too, was denied. She gave me a sideways glance – like apologizing for the delay. I just smiled. I didn’t know what to do? I thought of paying for the rest of her bill … but something in her demeanor made me not do it. Something in the way she looked at me spoke volumes … that she’d rather have to put things back, than suffer the humiliation of having a stranger – albeit meant only in a helping way – assist her in this payment. She found another card and the transaction was completed.

It took a LONG time for her to go through that line. The checkout lady apologized for the delay and asked if I wanted to get a new ice cream. I declined – I’d be careful with this and not let it spill until I could get it in the freezer. I felt lucky I could get it – even if it was melted. My heart felt heavy for that woman ahead of me but also light at the same time. I didn’t lose my patience (as the woman behind me was doing) but I had a bird’s eye view of what unfolded in front of me … the toughness of the situation … the embarrassment … the heartbreak of (almost) not being able to pay for a bag of groceries.

I drove home and didn’t utter an obscenity at the guy who ran the red light or the bicyclist who cut me off (without even noticing he had done so) … as you can see – driving around here sucks!

In any case – it was a huge lesson to me … calm down a bit … don’t be in such a rush or jump on someone else’s case – everyone has a story. Maybe the woman was new to our country trying her best to keep her head above water. Maybe the guy going through the red light was going to the hospital. Maybe the guy on the bike was late for work. Maybe it could have been me trying numerous cards to pay for my one sack of basic groceries.

Patience … is a virtue. Something I need to keep working on. Perhaps we all do.

July 18, 2024 ~ Thursday (another hot day expected – oh joy!)

It has been one of those mornings. I’m grumpy due to the heat (more of the same) and isolation (my summer of silence due to throat surgery continues). I have had far too many friends and friends’ dogs and neighbors pass away in the last two weeks than I ever want to experience again. The political climate is too hot and a disaster. I’m on meds that are akin to a supervised starvation plan. And, I’m waiting for the Roto-Rooter guy.

Enough said.

And, I’m crying. But – not for any of those above reasons. I just read a blog post (about “labeling” … https://webandworld.substack.com), written by my 39-year-old son (how did he get to be such an adult/of that age?) … and these are tears of sweetness … tears of understanding … tears of pride.

I have great kids. I don’t know how it happened but they both have this mindset – the one that my son wrote about today. Luck of the draw? Life of example? Society/environmental influences? I don’t know. What I do know is that in today’s world “things” seem to be going backwards by leaps and bounds for human and women’s rights, religious and love/relationship freedoms, racial and cultural acceptance, personal identities … dare I go on? And yet, I have two kids that don’t judge any person by the color of their skin, their cultural background, their personality identity, where they live or who they love. They see others as humans not the labels that society KEEPS putting on people for all reasons. I love and admire them for that.

I am in my Summer of Silence … on book #17 or so in a month. I can’t talk but I can read! And I’m reading fluff because it’s all I can stomach right now with all that is happening in the “real” world. This fluff takes me to elite cocktail parties, museum openings, and fancy galas in old Charleston … events dripping with southern gentility, silks, 24K gold jewelry, and mint juleps. All set in resplendent mansions filled with antiques I would die to see or in the lush, fragrant gardens of my dreams. Anyway – I can partake in all the festivities and never leave my chair! But, I’m writing the author because it’s been bugging me – she is very descriptive in her writing, however, the only “labels” she puts on people is that of “African American” characters in her books. Why label? Why is there that need to do so? Why not just describe the pretty shop keeper as the one with sienna colored hair and beautiful, burnished mahogany skin instead of African American? She describes someone else as a portly male with thinning silver hair and a florid complexion … we get the picture but she never says he’s Caucasian/White. I’m writing her. Why label? Haven’t we overcome that? Don’t we know better? Aren’t we better?

Apparently not. Sigh. I watched some of the RNC convention this week. I’ve watched and read the news coverage on several channels and from different outlets and it’s all too depressing. And scary. Our politicians and those supporting them are spewing vitriolic messages … most of their speeches are full of lies, innuendos, accusations, insinuated violence, ugliness, and pure hate. So much anger. So many lies. No integrity or conscience. I watched one woman, whose parents are both in jail for tax evasion and fraud – and yet she blamed the legal system. Is there no decency left? No humility? No knowing right from wrong not just what you can get away with or blame someone else for? How did we get here?

How did we get to a place, three months from another Presidential election – where our country’s two top candidates are who they are? How is that possible? One is a lying fraud who cheats, mocks, steals, incites violence, is an unethical sexual predator and racist, as well as a 34 felonies-convicted criminal (and then some) who consorts with criminals and is besties with global dictators and wants to be one himself … and the other one is seemingly 3000 years old, looking at best like he’s lost and needs help finding the end of the buffet line. He should never have said he was going to run for reelection – ever! How did we get here? These are out BEST choices? In a country of 333.3 million people – these are the most qualified and best????

(And an aside – which, oddly, just made me feel a bit better about all of this. I’m not one into angel numbers, etc but 333.3 is a very positive “angel number”. It is believed to set plans into action and lets personal strengths flourish and guides choices. It is also connected with optimism, creativity and intuition. So maybe this number will help guide us to being kinder, gentler, less hate-filled, compassionate, and understanding. Maybe.)

What I stated about our candidates isn’t about labels or opinion (well, Biden isn’t 3000 years old but getting close) but facts. Age is real. So is criminal conviction. What happened to the highest office in our country being revered? Remember when you were little and the BEST “job” someone could think of was to be President of the United States? Now it’s a very sad, scary, pathetic, hate-filled position. One of big bucks and power. We are in trouble.

The political climate is too hot. This is a country founded on freedoms … I just don’t know how we got here (again) and why everyone is so ugly, so hell-bent on getting rid of others that don’t think or look or act like they do. I have friends who no longer feel safe in this country because of their religious beliefs, ethnic backgrounds, and skin color. Now how awful is that for a country that is full of immigrants and says it embraces its melting pot mentality?

I long to live in a peaceful Utopian civilization/world where people – of every color, background, belief can co-exist, enjoy life, and learn from one another. Embrace, share, and learn from our differences. No hatred, no fear, no need for power, and certainly no labels. Afterall, beneath our skin and fears … we are more similar than most people think.

June 10, 2024 ~ Monday (a lovely cool evening)

I was going through my writing portfolio last night and came upon a story that I wrote in early 2021. I posted this on this blog in April of that year. And, I suppose, as is the case with anyone who writes … every once in a while we’ll write something that surprises even ourselves. This is one such story. Where did this come from? I haven’t entered a competition in quite some time – need to again – but this was from one such writing competition I entered that year.

The competition had 6100 entrants from around the world. We were each given a group (218 groups) and three parameters to meet. My group was given: art teacher/ghost story/therapy … and the story needed to be 2500 words. We had the weekend to submit.

The top 5 writers from each group would then continue on and compete in Round #2 with more parameters to meet … and a shorter time frame to write … until a winner was declared. I didn’t make the top 5 in my group … but came in at #8 and got an Honorable Mention. This is one of my favorite pieces.

Going Forward …

Lily was in a mood. It was Tuesday and her afternoon to volunteer at the Senior Center. Like she didn’t have a million other things to do but she had promised herself she’d give it a go. Promised to keep the New Year’s resolution of volunteering and getting out of her own head. She’d abandoned the same resolution twice before, but it was 2019 and she felt a greater need to stick with it. She needed to feel good. Do something nice. Give back. Heal her heart. Go forward. All that stuff. And, who knew what the future would bring next year? And yet, as she gathered her supplies, she grumbled under her breath. And to dampen her spirits, quite literally, even more … it was raining.

“Why is it always raining?” she yelled at the sky. Lily kicked the car door closed while juggling her laundry basket of paints and brushes, her open purse slung over her shoulder, unaware of things falling out and leaving a trail of lipstick, tissues and the entire contents of her wallet in a soggy wake as she hurried along.

Walter was walking along the sidewalk and watched the scene unfold. He watched Lily kick the car door and the contents spill from her purse, leaving behind a line of personal detritus from the curb to the Center’s door. He stooped down, gathered up the items and carried them inside.

“I do believe these are yours,” he said as he held out his hands to Lily. “They fell from your purse. You’ll see – it’s all there.”

Flustered, Lily grabbed, a little too brusquely, at her belongings, “Oh, dammit!” she spewed, “I’m sorry. Thank you so much, Mr. …?”

“Ferguson. But, please, call me Walter. Looks like you could use a hand.”

“Nice to meet you and thanks again. I’m Lily Davenport. Are you here for today’s class?”

He looked at her rather blankly. “I was always meaning to drop in but never got around to it. I guess today’s as good a day as any.”

The two of them hung up their dripping coats. No one else was in the room yet so Lily invited him to help her unload the basket and set up. Lily liked him immediately. He was like everyone’s vision of a kindly Grandpa.

The staff at the Senior Center had the room almost ready … there were long tables with chairs and empty spaces for those who’d arrive in wheelchairs. A few easels were also around the room for those who wanted to stand. Lily and Walter put out the paints, papers, brushes and water tins and in no time were ready for the group to arrive.

“I volunteer here … on Tuesdays we paint. Do you paint, Walter?

“No … can’t say I’ve ever painted – nothin’ but my house. Seems I’ve got nothin’ but time on my hands these days – might as well give it a shot.” He rubbed his hands together trying to draw the ache and coldness out. “It sure is nice and cozy in here; for the past month or so I’ve been having a tough time getting the chill out of me.”

Lily looked over at him and agreed, “It’s been an unusually cold and wet month. But spring’s almost here.”

Walter walked over to the front window and watched the rain. He looked back at Lily with rheumy, pale gray eyes that held years of experience, knowledge and the sorrow of deep loss. Lily held his gaze and felt the crush of loneliness and isolation. She knew what heartache looked and felt like.

“I’m coming to terms with a death,” he blurted out.

Lily came towards him and patted his arm. “I’m so sorry, Walter. Loss is hard. Grief is complicated. But you’re here now and maybe it’ll make you feel a bit better. I’m really glad you are joining us today. If nothing else, art seems to be good therapy for a lot of people, and it seems to help in a multitude of ways. I’ve even heard it helps release the soul.” She smiled and patted his arm once more. Her heart knew his pain.

The afternoon’s art class went along as all of the other ones had gone along since she had begun holding them at the Center … almost three months in and it was a lot of compliments and encouragement, small talk and spreading newspapers. Lots of picking up dropped brushes and wiping of spills. Lorelei tried to drink the brush water again. Lily was thinking this might not be the best class for her anymore. Max sat with a brush in his hand … staring off into space … the green paint dripping onto the paper. He was getting worse. Mr. Johnson painted a sun. Elaine said it was an orange and his feelings were hurt. An argument ensued and they were escorted to the snack room. Every week the same. Some days Lily struggled with her resolve to continue coming. Her friends agreed this would be good therapy for her. Get her mind somewhere else. Loss is hard. Grief is complicated. Some days she just wasn’t so sure it was worth it.

But today … there was Walter.

Walter must have done a remarkable job painting his home because his artwork was amazingly good. He stood at one of the easels and painted a landscape … pine trees off to the right; to the left, down a small embankment – cattails edged a small pond, a few ducks seemed to glide along. Across the pond was an empty bench facing the water, a few tulips bloomed nearby against the background of lushness of some overgrown garden. It was lovely. He had depth and contrast and a fine stroke. She was thinking that he was pulling her leg when he said he hadn’t painted before. This was truly done by someone with talent!

As Walter was cleaning up, Lily stood looking at his painting, “Walter, you’ve surely painted before. This is wonderful,” she remarked.

He chuckled and smiled, “I’m actually amazed at what came out of me. Honestly, I’ve never painted. My wife was a music teacher but crafty. She was always trying for me to do something with her but I always said that was her baby, not mine. Maybe I was wrong.” Lily collected the paintings and hung them on the clothesline to dry … she’d give them back to their Tuesday artist-owners the following week.

And that’s how it went … pretty much … for the next few months. Except, Max and Lorelei no longer came to class. Mr. Johnson and Elaine had started dating. And Walter came every Tuesday and painted the same scene. No matter how many times Lily tried to persuade him to do a still life or a sunset – his paintings came out almost exactly the same every week. A deeper pine green one week … more shadows or an extra duck the next. The tulips were replaced by dandelions as spring gave way to summer. But, for the most part, the sameness was uncanny.

One Tuesday in August Lily finally asked, “Walter, I just have to know, after all this time, why do you paint this scene every week?”

Walter chuckled a bit and said, “I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. I just paint what I see.”

“Well, it sure is peaceful,” she added as she gathered up the brushes.

“Yeah, it’s peaceful alright,” he sighed.

Lily and Walter continued with nothing more than polite conversation during their Tuesday afternoons. No personal chatter. No cups of coffee after class. No nothing. She didn’t know why

neither one of them extended themselves, but they didn’t. She didn’t know what his occupation had been. Didn’t know how long he had been married or if he had kids. Didn’t know where his home was – though she supposed nearby as he always walked to the Center. Actually, over the last few months Walter had gotten quieter – as if talking took a lot out of him to do so. He offered up no more information about himself but seemed genuinely pleased to be spending his Tuesday afternoons in that manner. And Lily found that she, too, was as well. She felt lighter, happier than she’d been in a long time and found she was no longer grumbling as she parked her car on those volunteer Tuesdays. Maybe this was good therapy. She actually looked forward to helping the senior members explore their creative sides. Mr. Johnson’s suns were looking more realistic. Elaine started painting oranges. And every week Walter got quieter and painted the same scene.

Another month went by. It was now autumn and on those Tuesdays Lily brought in colorful fallen leaves, a few pumpkins, acorns she had gathered, some twigs. She thought people might like to paint them or add them into some scene of their own choosing. Walter did not. He was a one-and-done kind of guy. But he always seemed contented with the outcome of his work.

“Walter, the pond looks darker today,” Lily told him as she stood looking at the finished painting one afternoon.

“Storm’s comin’,” he replied.

The next week there were no ducks in the painting. “Walter, you forgot the ducks,” Lily said, looking at him questioningly.

“They flew South,” he remarked.

And so it went. October turned into November which then slid into December. The pumpkins and turkeys that she brought to class changed to bowls of ornaments and branches covered in moss.

One Tuesday Walter breathed softly, “This is perfect.”

Lily looked at the painting and it looked almost exactly like all the others he had painted in the past months … except some of the cattails were fatter or blown, their stalks and leaves tawny and bent. A few of them had what looked like frost on them. But, for the most part, it was the same painting … but she agreed with him and said, “You’re right, Walter. This one is perfect.”

The next Tuesday the rains returned but Walter did not. The following week, Tuesday came and went and no Walter. Lily hoped she’d see him come through the door, but he did not. She wondered and worried about him and was saddened by his absence. She had hung his last painting on the wall … she and it were waiting for him. On her way out the door she remembered that Walter had told her of some pink berry bushes a few blocks from the Center. “‘They’d be nice to paint,'” he had said. Always on the lookout for something natural to bring in, Lily thought that pink berries would be lovely this time of year. She chastised herself for not going weeks earlier and headed in the direction he had told her – zig zagging along the curvy streets through a tidy neighborhood of small homes and manicured yards. She was looking for the pink berry bushes when out of the corner of her eye came a most familiar scene … to her right was a green space with pine trees and a pond!

Lily couldn’t believe her eyes! She pulled her car over and ran to the sidewalk that encircled what seemed to be a small neighborhood park. “It’s all here!” she blurted out. “Oh my God. Everything is just as he painted it.” There were bushes to her right and across the lawn and before her was the stand of pine trees and down the sloped lawn to the left lay the pond – encircled by cattails – now, all blown out and scraggly.

This is amazing! she thought as she looked about. “This is Walter’s painting!” she said out loud. There was no one there to hear her – not even a duck – just the wind through the pines. Lily walked from the sidewalk, under the trees’ naked winter branches and stood looking at it all. And there, on the other side of the pond, was the bench. She walked down the grass and around the pond – twirling around and taking it all in.

She walked through the wet grass to the bench and sat down. She leaned back; the bench had a good feel … old, weathered and comfortable. Kind of like Walter. She sat for a while looking over the pond and the pines – amazed that she was sitting there. It was truly lovely. It was just as he had painted. She missed him but as she sat there, taking in the scene that had become so familiar to her, she felt peace settle in her at last. It had been a difficult few years but she finally felt she was ready to go forward. A new year loomed in just a few weeks – what would 2020 bring?

She sat for a while looking out over the pond, breathing in the winter air when she noticed what looked like a small fenced in area near the stand of pines. It had never shown up in Walter’s paintings. She thought perhaps it was the pond’s pump station but being curious, she got up and walked around the pond towards it; realizing as she got closer that that was the vantage point of all Walter’s paintings – his vision was from that spot.

As she neared it, she was surprised to realize that this small square of wrought iron fencing was not what she thought but enclosed a small cemeterial plot with half a dozen ornately carved headstones. The grass over these gravesites was lush and green and the headstones were worn and weathered and had been there a long time. All except one – the last one was newer. She could tell as the headstone was whiter, not as worn by the elements. She walked up to the end of the fence and as she leaned in against the wrought iron to read the words, she let out a gasp …

In Loving Memory * Walter Randolph Ferguson * Everyone’s Beloved Grandpa * January 18, 1932 – February 23, 2019

June 8, 2024 ~ Saturday (evening/the robins are peeping their goodnights and the animals are restless)

There is a squirrel in my kitchen. Well, not at this moment … we chased him out. But about 45 seconds ago there was a squirrel in my kitchen. That wasn’t the first time. Nor was it the first time … today.

It’s my own fault. What can I say? I love my local rodents (Sciuridae – squirrels – in particular). I will forego the mice and rats … I just like squirrels. There are over 230 species (only 65 in the US) and include (I didn’t know this) chipmunks, flying squirrels, prairie dogs, and marmots! (My dad and I once fed a marmot black licorice when hiking Longs Peak – poor thing was probably dead in an hour!) I pass a prairie dog village on the way to my daughter’s … love seeing them out on their little mounds. So cute! They also have the most complex language (of all animals/other than humans) having over 120 different vocalizations. There are no marmots around here but the squirrels that like to visit us are about the size of my chihuahua, Frankie … but with bushy tails and smaller ears! Cute, cute, cute.

It was a busy day and about an hour ago, I thought I’d stretch out on the couch and grab a 12-minute cat nap (10 minutes = too short/15 minutes = too long) and I was just about dozing off when I heard the tin top of the dog treat canister hit the kitchen floor with a metallic clank. I knew in an instant what was going on. My tree squirrel had come calling for a snack. I admit it, I feed them. I can’t help myself. I buy them peanuts and give them stale crackers and granola bars and at times (yes) I’ve made them peanut butter sandwiches – cut on the diagonal (only kidding) and stuffed in the crook of the tree. Well, squirrels gotta eat, too. Right? Especially in winter.

For a while I contemplated moving to Henderson, NC … home of the White Squirrel. It is not an albino version … it is just white! They have all sorts of festivals and parades and such celebrating that critter. Sounded oh-s0-lovely to me until I found out that the KKK is really big in those parts!

There are black, red, brown, gray, and white squirrels … and roughly over 2 billion squirrels world-wide. I don’t know how they figure that out but I pity the guy who just got the job of being a Squirrel Counter. Modern scientific data collection! Who knows!

Today I helped move my son into his new apartment – here in town. I don’t remember the last time he had a residence in town. Has he? He is a world traveler and for the last two-three years has been off wandering and exploring, writing and blogging, pod casting and researching … a current day Vasco de Gama. (I picked VG cuz I like his name – flows off the tongue nicely – and he was the first explorer (that we know of) to voyage to India via the Cape of Good Hope and was the first to link Europe and Asia by an ocean route, connecting the Atlantic and the Indian oceans.) While Ted has not done that – he has been and has worked in India – and, indirectly, thanks to good ol’ Vasco.

In any case, Ted is back in town for a bit and we moved him in today. And the physical deed of either of us moving anything today should have been highly unlikely. Ted had a corneal transplant surgery three weeks ago … and I had throat surgery five days ago. So … smart? Um, probably not. But, we did it nevertheless.

And, due to my surgery, I am not allowed to talk … for a good long time. Like all summer. So it has begun … the Summer of Silence. And, due to said silence, today was exhausting. It’s hard enough NOT to talk … but add in hand gestures, mouthing words (badly), and some written notes and you have a very crude way of communicating. I like talking. This is going to be a long haul.

I had to laugh at times (not supposed to) because my actions/gestures reminded me of my daughter, Sam, when she was a toddler. Walking but not really talking yet, she’d use hand gestures signaling what she wanted. Her most memorable one was while standing in the kitchen, she’d pound her chest (ala a gorilla) and then point to the freezer … meaning she wanted an Otter Pop (those frozen, fruity ice sticks). Hilarious and well, she made her point. And hey, it was a hot summer and yeah, my kids got ice pops at 8:30 am! They survived quite nicely! Anyway – I felt like I was doing gestures that would easily convey my wordlessness – but I probably looked like a gorilla or chimpanzee in my movements!

And while it wasn’t exactly toasty out – I was still a slobberpuss of sweat while moving things into his building. And, my apologies honey, I looked like I’d been dipped in a pond before being electrocuted. I was wet and my hair resembled Einstein’s. Lovely. “Hi, I just moved in – this gross creature is my mom. She is mute and exceedingly sweaty and I don’t know what is going on with her hair.” I hope his neighbors forget about me and talk to him in the future.

There are a lot of sirens tonight. I notice them because the doors are open (hence squirrels coming in for snacks) and Mac, my lab, lets loose with a deep, mournful howl when they go down the next road over (where the Fire Station is). I jump out of my skin every time he does that!

In any case – that squirrel (or ???) was just back in the house. Since I am mute, I let Mac chase whatever it was out, barking all the way around the yard, stopping at my side fence. I can’t yell or talk to it so … good dog. But now there is something out in my neighbor’s yard making a very creepy scritching noise. Not that I want a squirrel in my house … I just hope it was one and not a … raccoon!

So starts summer!